


A Small Problem

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Dean, Buried Alive, Gen, Peril, Shrunk Dean, Tiny Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19330711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dean ends up shrunk to just below hand height.He gets that Sam, Cas and Jack are just trying to look out for him, but he is not a baby; he knows his way around his own damn bunker.But the bunker is a very different place now that he’s only inches in height, and Dean’s determination to do things for himself might just be h is undoing.





	A Small Problem

**Author's Note:**

> If anybody has any other misfortunes they’d like to see for Tiny!Dean, please leave a comment.

The worst thing about it, Dean thought, was the way they were all being so careful around him.

He did not need babied. He almost took Cas’s head off when the angel suggested carrying him everywhere (and it didn’t help when Cas added, as a compromise, that Dean could sit on his shoulder - yeah, heights, not exactly on his list of favourite things).

Did he feel shitty after? Absolutely, and when he was back to his full height he’d find a way to make it up to Cas.

But given he was currently about the height of somebody’s hand, he figured a certain amount of asshole-ness was forgivable.

In the meantime, all he needed from the three fucking giants (three, there used to be just one and now there were _three_ ) was to find a way to get him back his extra five foot plus and the rest they could leave up to him.

It wasn’t like he was helpless. Nothing else around the bunker had changed. It was just him, and this was still his home, and Dean knew how to keep himself safe in his home.

_The Trash_

The mini rope ladders were his idea.

That job had gone to Jack; it had taken the kid most of the day, and kept him from following Dean around like an overprotective giant pup, and also allowed Dean more independence until he could get back to his normal height.

Under his watchful eye, Jack had securely fastened one off wherever he thought Dean might need them most: up to his bed, the tables, the seats, even to the john.

Sam had balked at that one, worried that Dean might overbalance and fall in, and the argument that had provoked ended up in neither of them speaking to each other for an entire day, except through Cas.

Dean wasn’t a child; even at less than seven inches tall, he knew how to take a piss without supervision and he was not, no way no how, peeing in the sink or in a bowl that somebody would have to empty for him later.

When he was eighty five, maybe, but not one day sooner.

But the kitchen was where even Cas drew the line.

There was no practical reason for Dean to be in there by himself, or clambering around the counters, close to an often filled sink, a hob, and sharp knives.

His asserted independence aside, he couldn’t cook (another bug bear) so on this all three of them stood fast.

That didn’t mean, of course, that Dean was actually going to listen, which was probably to blame for his current predicament.

He’d had Jack gave him a spare ladder to carry around if he had to, on the downlow, making up some story for the kid about emergencies or whatever, and then made a few changes to it.

Now it had a hook and weight attached to a rope fastened around the top rung; not a perfect design, but like this Dean had limited resources to work with and it would do the job well enough.

The rope could be tossed up or over, and would probably give him access to most of the places deemed off limits for people less than a foot in height.

And Dean wanted onto the kitchen counter.

That said, the ladder wouldn’t reach it.

But the trash can was right next to the counter, helpful for just scooping waste into, and Dean knew if he could get into the edge of that, he could pull himself up from there.

It took a couple of attempts to get the ladder in place, but then Dean was climbing like a commando up the side and then hauling himself to sit astride the edge.

The can was due an empty, and he pinched his nose shut at how much worse it smelt, somehow, to him like this than when he was three feet or more above the stink.

But the longer he sat there, the more likely he’d need a wash when done, so he got his feet under him and stood carefully up.

All he had to do was walk to the middle, and then reach up to grab the counter’s edge and pull.

That was it.

But he hadn’t accounted for how slippy the garbage bag would be under his feet and he was only about half way there when he felt it move under him.

Fuck.

He pinwheeled his arms, tried to get his balance back, but it didn’t help, a moment later he was falling, and then he hit something squishy that split underneath him.

Dean coughed, hacked, as noxious fumes rose up about him and he turned onto his hands and knees with difficulty.

Whatever was under him, he didn’t know and didn’t want to, but it was now smeared all over him.

Never mind the bath; he’d need steeped in bleach when he got out of this one.

When he looked around him, though, he saw that was going to be a problem.

He’d landed right in the middle of the trash, in a kind of valley with the rest of the rubbish heaped up around the sides.

Dean stayed very still.

If he moved too much, he could bring the trash walls caving in, and maybe it’d provide a slope or something for him to reach the edge of the trash can and clamber out.

Or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it would bury him instead, and nobody knew he was in here.

He thought about praying to Cas, but squashed that idea flat. The last thing he needed was the additional humiliation of having to be rescued from among the kitchen waste, or the lecture he would definitely get from Sam (who’d probably confiscate every single one of the ladders that represented Dean’s only freedoms right then).

No. He’d got himself into this, and he’d get himself out.

He stood up slowly, and turned carefully around, trying to work out which side stood the best chance of not collapsing if he tried to climb it.

Lucky for him Jack hadn’t quite got the hang of splitting up the trash for recycling yet; there were a couple of crushed cereal boxes on the right, forming a solid enough support for Dean to climb up.

He took a breath and jumped off whatever it was he’d landed on, and rolled to a stop just beneath the first of the boxes.

The trash heap held, and so Dean got up and gingerly put his weight on the cardboard. 

It didn’t cave or crumple, and it didn’t bring mounds of rotting food down on him. So far, so good.

Carefully, he pulled himself up, straining to get and keep a solid handhold, but within a few moments he was able to stand up again. 

The next box was sitting on the short side, which meant reaching the rim there would take a jump, risky, but necessary.

Dean steadied himself, and sprang upwards.

His fingers came just short of the edge, and he thumped back down again, almost overbalancing.

He caught himself just in time, and flopped, panting, against the side of the box, cursing himself.

He could do this. He’d been in way shittier situations than this one and got out by himself.

He could do it again.

When he jumped this time, he managed to grab the edge and hold on, but the stretch burned through his muscles; he dug the toes of his sneakers into the cardboard wall, trying to give himself something to push against as he tried to heave himself up and over.

And then the box shifted.

There was nothing Dean could do except hold on. The cereal container tilted almost to forty five degrees, and Dean held his breath, thinking maybe that was it. If it was, he could still climb on, just more carefully, and see where he had to go from there.

But no sooner had the thought formed then the box tilted the rest of the way, and Dean gave a scared yell as he ended up beneath it, and the heap of rubbish that followed, flowing down on him in a stinking avanlanche.

Panic took over then. He was literally buried alive, and he kicked and clawed and fought, trying to push the garbage away from him and, finally, managing to push his way to the surface.

Only his head and shoulders were poking through, but he could breathe, even if the air wasn’t exactly pleasant.

It was better than none at all.

And the accidental cave in was also revealed to be a blessing in disguise. It had filled in the crevasse between Dean and the side of the waste bin. All he had to do now was get on top, and he could get back to the ladder, and climb down again.

Digging himself out took effort, and his entire body was shaking so much that, when he got to the side of the bin, he had to rest for nearly ten minutes before he felt ready to climb down again.

Talking Jack into getting him some baby wipes and washing his clothes in the sink took some persuasion, mainly to stop the kid from telling on him to Sam and Cas, but he managed.

Clearly, though, the kitchen was going to be off limits until he was back to his normal size.


End file.
